ME Kink Meme Archives: Miscellaneous
by KSCrusaders
Summary: A collection of non-Garrus stories from the old masskink meme. Some editorial changes, spoilers for ME1 and ME2.
1. Drabbles

_Drabblet 1: Vigil_

__"Your task is to cast a light into the darkness. To bear triumph out of failure, hope out of despair."

Images streamed through Vigil's software as the lead scientist exited the room, heading for his own cryo pod. The mammals in the far arm of the Milky Way, the aquatic creatures, the amphibious beings...all the species they'd been carefully observing and cultivating. They, not the Protheans asleep in their cryo pods, were its charges. Their futures were its task.

And now, after millennia of waiting, its part to play was coming to a close. Vigil knew it had only minutes left. It could sense the vehicle bearing its precious payload barreling down the cemetery under Ilos, and it directed its thoughts inward.

Three beings, two male and one female. The males were of species unfamiliar to Vigil-the Protheans had not made contact before the Reapers wiped them out. But the female was of the bipedal mammals in one of the galaxy's outer arms.

There was no relief or joy or peace. It had not been programmed for such things. But it did know that it had succeeded in its task, that the slow and miserable deaths of the scientists on the barren Citadel had not been in vain. It knew that the female "human" carried the galaxy's hopes now.

Its burden had been lifted, transferred to the living shoulders of another.

It knew she was worthy to bear the weight of trillions of lives. Biological markers indicated youth. Physiological ones showed biotics and strength. And from the brief snatches of conversation Vigil heard between them with its failing senses, it caught determination, strength, and an iron will to survive.

She had the disc. She had the Cipher. If Vigil could feel envy, it would. She carried in her head the last remnant of what it meant to be Prothean. When its power inevitably failed, she would be the only one who truly understood the Protheans' last hours.

It wanted to call out to her again, ask her to remember. But somehow, maybe due to the Cipher, it could read her cues unlike the two males, who were entirely alien to it. And somehow it knew she would never forget the Protheans. That she would honor their terrible sacrifice.

Shutdown would come in less than a minute. The flurry of activity on Ilos today had drained all but the very last of its reserves. Vigil finished recording the last of its data to a disc. It doubted any existing species could read it, let alone understand it, but maybe if she returned to Ilos, she would find it...the last words of the Prothean race.

Thank you. Godspeed.

_Drabblet 2: ManShep/Miranda_

"You are such an unbelievable ass."

Shepard grinned and crossed his arms as Miranda glared at him. He felt pretty ridiculous with the huge cape, white face paint, black clothes, and fake teeth, but the expression on Miranda's face was totally worth it.

"Sourpuss. I thought you liked vampires. Dracula, Lestat, all that good stuff."

"I'm not being sour, I'm being mature. And how did you know my reading preferences?"

"EDI doesn't only answer to you," he said. When she looked like she was about to respond, he added, "Don't be angry. Not over Halloween." He grinned, that mischievous and boyish grin that got under her skin all the time. For all his accomplishments and talents, Shepard could be such an immature kid sometimes.

He produced a package from underneath the cloak. "I even got you a costume," he said, looking supremely pleased with himself.

She had to wipe that smile off of his face somehow, and an idea suddenly popped into her head fully-formed. She took the costume from him with a bit of an evil grin.

"I'll make a deal with you," she said, getting up from behind the desk. "I'll wear whatever ridiculous costume you like."

Shepard's smile faded a little, replaced by suspicion. "There's always a catch, Miranda."

"I get to take yours off first."

***

This wasn't how he'd imagined things-more control on his part, certainly, and definitely not a Miranda dressed as Catwoman with him on his knees in front of her bed. Though he couldn't say he was in any position to complain.

She knelt down behind him and grabbed his hands in her own, her grip surprisingly strong. He couldn't see anything with a strip of his cape tied tightly around his eyes. She guided one of his hands to his own erection, the other to the open zipper in the costume between her legs.

"Now then," she whispered. "Let's see if Commander Shepard is as good with his hands as he is with his mouth."

She'd hit him right in the ego. How she could appeal to his pride while holding him like a vice was beyond him. He growled and strained against her a little, not too hard. He didn't really want to go anywhere.

"Oh, come on, Shepard. As if I don't know what you're like. I worked on you for two years, remember?" she said, her voicing becoming poisonously sweet. "I get to reap some reward from that other than you being an ass to me."

And she did. On top, side-by-side, on the bed and on the floor. And not once did she concede control or allow him to remove that damnable cape, not until they were both utterly spent.

She pulled the cloth aside, and Shepard was rewarded with a flushed-looking Miranda, the catwoman costume half-unzipped and hanging from her body.

"And that," he said with his characteristic grin as he hugged her, "is why Halloween is my favorite holiday...and you're my favorite woman."

_Drabblet 3: Saren_

__She'd like it here, in the madness of this ship's living hull. It'd suit her-the odd angles, the uncomfortable juxtaposition, the wicked background hiss of Sovereign's waking systems.

Or at least, it'd suit the inexplicable effect she had on him.

He might have been slowly becoming a harmony of organic and synthetic, but at the moment, the two warred with one another. The synthetic telling him that his lust for her was utterly illogical, the organic desiring nothing more than for her mouth to replace his hand as he stroked himself in the control center of that twisted ship.

Saren had never really been one for words, but he'd found that action, decisive action, could convince another as well as any honeyed speech. He wondered what actions he'd have to take to convince her.

Maybe he'd back her up against a wall, slow step by slow step, until she had nowhere else to go. Maybe he'd show just a sliver of mercy after he broke her at long last. Maybe he'd have her brought back in chains, brought back as a trophy.

Or maybe-and he increased the pace of his strokes and let out a growl at the thought-he'd show her he was right. Share the Prothean vision with her. Bring her to his side.

He felt the burning of his synthetic implants as heat and sweat began to trickle along his skin, but this time, it was in unison with the pulsing, throbbing pleasure beginning to take hold of him. He could almost smell her, taste her, despite having never met her in person-her human skin flush against his, her cries echoing through the metallic chamber, her teeth nipping and biting at him as he filled her, brought her to his cause.

And if she tried to apologize, to say she was wrong, he'd stop her. Show her how to put that mouth to better use, teach her the value of action. A long, shuddering gasp tore from his throat as he threw his head back in barely-contained ectasy, picturing her laid out on top him. Thanking him with her body.

His whole body shook, synthetic and organic, and white lightning ran through him. It took him a minute or two afterwards, when he'd regained his senses, to realize that in that moment, he'd been one. Whole with himself, a perfect union of metal and flesh.

...it was an idea. One that Sovereign apparently didn't disapprove of. Saren grinned as the Reaper ship approached Virmire.

He could change her. Open her eyes, and reap his reward.


	2. Hive of Scum and Villainy

(Saren/Shepard, and pretty dark. You are warned.)

This was the underbelly of the Citadel that few people ever saw, where the heavier vices sank and settled and festered. Worse than Chora's Den, worse than the lower wards. It was too easy to infiltrate this place, even with the Council putting a price on his head and a hound on his trail, too easy to hide in the shadows and wait.

This was where he'd met her all those years ago, long before Eden Prime, when he'd first seen her with a few other Alliance marines looking for some cheap fun. He'd recognized her as Anderson's little protege...and spotted a wonderful opportunity.

He never told her his name. There was no point when she was drunk off her sorry human ass, blindfolded and naked in a back room, utterly at his mercy. A feral grin twisted his face as he imagined that first coupling, violent and desperate. He hadn't expected anything more from her. It started out as just another way of taking a swipe at Anderson, his own private little joke.

But every time she was on the Citadel, she came back to this place.

And every time, Saren Arterius was waiting for her.

It happened like clockwork, had happened for years now. She'd come here alone, drink enough to pickle a krogan. He'd place a hand on her neck and steer her toward the same room, and blindfold her. He never said a word. She never knew who he was, but the way she'd writhe and beg beneath him as he fucked her senseless, she clearly didn't care. He took it out on her, his hate for her kind, his loathsome lust for her.

Tonight, however, he was planning something special. His way of saying "congratulations" to her recent appointment as a Spectre.

* * *

Shepard looked around nervously, picking at her civvies as she approached the darkened bar. Indulging her worst, darkest guilty lust was dangerous-she was unarmed, alone, and no one else knew where she was. It had to be this way, or he wouldn't come. Every time she checked herself afterwords, spreading med-gel over the claw marks and scrapes, wincing at the stiffness in her shoulders and neck, she told herself it would be the last time.

This time, it had to be. She was going to Therum in a few days, starting her hunt for Saren. There wouldn't be time for dangerous habits any more. She was quitting cold turkey.

Somewhere into the third set of shots, it occurred to her that this was quite a way to celebrate. Get drunk off her ass, fucked senseless, then turn up the next day for a final inspection of the Normandy before leaving. But she couldn't help it. She needed to feel him, his claws and his teeth and his tearing lust, just one more time. If only the Alliance could see her now.

He always came when the world started swirling. None of the other bar patrons approached her-they knew why she was there, whose she was. And on cue, she felt a cold, clawed hand on the back of her neck, juxtaposed with the soft blindfold slipping over her eyes.

Forty two steps to the back room. Click as the door opened, his heavy breaths hot against her neck. Her body quivered with anticipation, and she heard his whispering chuckle.

Two clicks. Secure locks. She felt him guiding her to the bed, his hand vice-like on her neck. Her knees bumped against the mattress, and she felt his hands spinning her around to face him. A long, pointed tongue tickled her neck before the room was suddenly flooded with light so bright she could see it through the blindfold.

She gave a cry of surprise-this wasn't supposed to happen. This never happened. There was a soft laugh in her ear. "Shepard," he whispered, the cruel chuckle still in his voice.

Shit.

Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She shoved him away with a hard kick, hearing his pained grunt with satisfaction. Her hands came up and ripped the blindfold off. There was something familiar about his voice, but she'd worry about that after she beat the piss out of him.

The black cloth fell away, her eyes watering in the suddenly bright light. His blurry form stood up, advancing on her when she suddenly froze, eyes widening to the size of saucers.

"...Mary, mother of fuck."

Before she knew it, there was a gun pointed at her head. Saren's hard body pressed against her back, one arm hooked around her throat, just tightly enough to make her gasp for air. "Shepard," he repeated. "What marvelous irony."

"You knew, you son of a bitch," she whispered, voice shaking.

"You humans are foolishly trusting." The safety of Saren's pistol clicked, the barrel pressing painfully against her temple. "Incidentally, I believe congratulations are in order."

Hate bubbled up within her, hot and bright, and she sank her teeth into his forearm. Saren grunted and tightened his stranglehold, dragging her back toward the bed. She gasped and scrabbled for air to no avail. Fear and hatred had partially sobered her mind, but not her body, and he was far too strong.

He hurled her down on the bed, her head hitting the mattress so hard she saw stars. Then, to her astonishment, he holstered his gun and began removing his armor, tossing his weapons casually across the room, out of her reach.

"You can't be serious," she said, mouth agape.

His response was to hook one claw in her collar and pull, ripping her shirt from neck to navel.

Something kept her there, on the bed, staring at him in horrified fascination. The alcohol in her system, no doubt, making her slow and stupid, but there was more than that. Saren's eerily glowing eyes burned with hate, menace...and something altogether different. But he hadn't shot her. She was still alive, though she wouldn't last long against him unarmed in a fight.

Never had she seen him in the light. He was lean and muscular, metal implants interweaving with the hard flesh. He laughed mirthlessly as he towered over her, completely naked. That grafted synthetic arm came up to cup her cheek and she turned away, biting the inside of her cheek and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Cling to straws all you like, Shepard. But I was the one you came to time and again." His other hand opened her ruined shirt, resting against one of her breasts.

His voice dropped to a dangerously soft purr. "Now tell me...has any of that changed?"

His claws pinched at her nipple through the fabric, and an inadvertent whimper slipped from her lips. She turned and glared up at him as he joined her on the bed and pushed her legs open.

"Lecherous bastard," she spat.

Saren's face twisted. "You think I wouldn't give anything to be rid of you, Shepard?" His synthetic arm moved to her neck and squeezed, but she didn't flinch. She knew what was coming next, and it didn't involve her death.

Her eyes held his, calling his bluff. If he'd wanted to kill her, there were countless opportunities long before this, where she'd been spent and helpless beneath him. And he'd never made a move. The same twisted compulsion that had plagued them both for years was now going to save her life...and his.

Saren snarled. He'd wanted to see her break upon realizing exactly who had been taking her. Instead, those human eyes held a defiant challenge, asked him if he could still stomach doing this, told him that she could.

Her hand reached out to grip his arousal, roughly tugging him closer. He let out a hiss of pleasure and pain, allowing himself to be pulled in. She wiggled out from under him, her shirt still gaping open, and got on her knees before him, tongue running over her pale red lips.

"Get rid of your clothes first," he snapped. She raised an eyebrow before obliging, stripping with military efficiency before crouching before him once more. He stifled a moan as her mouth wrapped around him. This was a trait humans had that he didn't detest.

He tasted like heat and metal, bitter and sweet and biting. Both his hands came up to grip her head, dictating her pace. She heard his breathing grow steadily more ragged, heavier pants and eventually moans as she swirled her tongue and teeth over him.

"...enough."

He hauled her to her feet and stood, pinning her against the closest wall. But he wasn't rough like he usually was. He took his time, sliding into her body with long, slow thrusts. He wanted her to know exactly who was taking her.

She didn't look away. Not once did she back down, even with his sharp hips digging into hers, his claws biting into her shoulders. Her hands slid along his skin, touching steel and flesh, everything she could reach.

Every time he did this, he told himself he'd kill her after it was over, end his own addiction. He never had, and at this rate, he never would.

He began quickening his pace, and soon she was moaning and gasping, still pinned between him and the cold metal wall. Heat and ice played along her flushed skin-the metal at her back and implanted in his body, the searing touch of his hands and skin. She buried her face in his shoulder and bit to stifle her cries, relishing his startled growl.

"Shepard..." he whispered, menace in every syllable. He could feel her moans and gasps against his shoulder, her body beginning to shake. Savage pleasure ripped through him when she screamed his name, heedless of time or place. He groaned and gave one final thrust, his whole body shuddering violently.

The world tilted when Saren abruptly pulled away from her, causing her to lose her balance and stumble forward. He laughed and tossed her some paper towels to clean herself up.

She didn't even think of Saren's gun, still lying discarded in the corner. All she could do was collapse on the bed, alcohol and ecstasy keeping her in a delirious haze. They were still enemies, but not mortal ones. Not until they left the strangeness of this place. He laid down next to her, his synthetic arm absently stroking her skin.

"Get some dextro alcohol for yourself next time," she muttered.

"If you're stupid enough to show your face here again, I'll kill you. I'd be doing the galaxy a service."

She poked him between his chest plates-hard. "No, you won't."

He wanted to prove her wrong so badly. But all he could do was glare at her, with her wry, self-loathing smile as he pushed her beneath him once more.


	3. Conviction

(ManShep and Legion friendship short fic)

Tali wasn't sure if Legion understood anger. She didn't know if the geth could comprehend hate. But both of them gave Shepard a wide berth when he walked out of the experiment chamber. Their normally cheerfully wisecracking commander was pale with fury, shaking from head to toe. He had Dr. Archer by the scruff of the neck, and he unceremoniously deposited the scientist at Legion's feet before once again sealing the door behind him.

He said nothing to either of them, but he did give her a long, hard look that made her quake inside. She'd heard scraps of the shouting from the sealed experiment chamber-something about the geth.

"Stand guard outside the door until I get Chakwas and Mordin here with medical supplies. Don't go in that room unless you hear something. If you do, get Archer to check it out. With a gun to his back. Then beat him within an inch of his life." Shepard turned away and stormed down the hall toward the waiting Hammerhead.

"...what was that all about?" said Tali.

Never, not once in her long history with Shepard had she seen the Spectre so unspeakably angry. She'd seen him irritated, upset, but never in such a towering rage.

Legion's head lamp blinked twice. "Our sensors detect an organic-a human male-connected to a virtual intelligence interface. We hypothesize that the purpose of this experiment was to control our people, and Shepard deemed the experiment unethical."

Tali shifted uncomfortably. Why did Shepard bring her and Legion of all people for these sorts of missions? Trying to turn the subject from the geth, she said, "Yes, but Shepard's broken up all sorts of twisted experiments. The Thorian on Feros, all of Cerberus's handiwork when we were hunting Saren...I've never seen him like this before."

Legion's head lamp flared. "Shepard-Commmander's public profile details an attack during youth on Mindoir in which his family perished, including a younger sister and brother." The geth stopped short when the door slammed open again, and Shepard reappeared with Mordin and Chakwas in tow, each carrying medical supplies. He directed them into the experiment room and yanked up Archer by the arm.

Archer looked over his shoulder into the chamber. "What-what are you doing?"

"It's none of your business anymore," said Shepard coldly. "I'm taking you back to one of the other stations. Cerberus can decide if they still give a shit about you." He signaled Tali and Legion to follow him toward the Hammerhead.

Silence again inside the vehicle. Shepard's eyes stared straight ahead as he drove one-handed, the other still exerting its vice-like grip on Archer's neck. It wasn't until they'd dumped Archer off at a different research station that Tali spoke up.

"Shepard...are you-"

"Drop it."

A day later found Shepard in the AI Core of the ship, making his usual rounds. Something still wasn't right, and the whole crew had sensed it. His temper was short, and he was distracted and preoccupied.

He stuck his head into the AI Core, satisfied himself that nothing was awry, and was about to leave when Legion looked up at him from where it had been leaning against the wall.

"Shepard-Commander. We request permission to discuss the recent events at Project Overlord. EDI has noted small behavioral changes since the virtual intelligence was disabled."

EDI's electronic blue hologram popped up. "I am concerned about your emotional state, Shepard. You should speak with Miss Chambers."

Shepard gave the hologram a withering glare, but how exactly was one to intimidate an AI into silence? He was about to tell her to shut the hell up when Legion spoke again, and stopped him dead in his tracks.

"We are aware that the VI attempted to interface with you. We have experienced hacking attempts, and although the situation is not identical, it is analogous."

Images flashed before Shepard's eyes. His brother. His sister. Their screams as the batarians mercilessly cut them down. David Archer, suspended inside a monstrosity.

"That's not the point," he said quietly. "I wouldn't have cared if they were doing experiments for greater understanding into kumquats. David was his brother."

"And the geth they forcibly captured, imprisoned, and controlled were our people."

Shepard looked up at Legion, briefly startled out of his own tumultuous muddle of thoughts. "Hadn't...thought of it that way," he admitted slowly. "But you don't get it. I shouldn't have let Archer go. I should have shot him where he stood."

"We do not comprehend organic emotional responses like hatred or anger first-hand. We have no processes for such things. We do, however, recognize the distress these responses produce in organics. Our comments were intended to alleviate, not to incite."

It took a second for Shepard to realize that in its own weird way, Legion was trying to help. For the first time in over a day, a small smile cracked his face. He patted the geth's shoulder twice. "Uh...thanks. I think."

"We recommend reconciliation with Creator Tali'Zorah to maintain unit cohesion. We have recognized signs of distress in her behavior, and signs of antagonism on your part."

Shepard rubbed his temples. "Since when were you my therapist?" When Legion didn't respond except to blink at him, he groaned and started for the door.

"Well, I guess you know you're being an ass when even the damned AI thinks so." He gave Legion a self-deprecating smile. "Fine, I'll go talk to Tali. Meddling bastard."


	4. Filed Under Etiquette

"Taylor, spilling drinks on the Citadel was your bleeding idea," said Shepard. He had his arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and looked like he was about to do murder. "You don't get to flake on me. Legion hacked into the system at Darkstar and got us a private stripper room and everything."

Jacob looked from the geth to his commanding officer, startled. "That...doesn't sound like something you would do."

"Gunnery Officer Vakarian informed us of the organic need to reestablish psychological equilibrium after periods of prolonged stress. He recommended imbibing intoxicants and engaging in sexual activity. We are merely facilitating unit cohesion," said Legion, its head-lamp blinking in Shepard's direction. Garrus, standing on Shepard's other side, at least had the good grace to look embarrassed at Jacob's incredulous expression.

Shepard, who had clearly been pre-gaming, grinned and slapped Legion of the back. The geth blinked twice at him, then returned the gesture somewhat more gingerly.

"You see?" said Shepard, more loudly than usual. "Legion here is a true bro."

Jacob shifted at his armory station, looking exceedingly uncomfortable. He glanced at his watch, then back up at Shepard. "Look...Kasumi and I made plans for dinner. Maybe I'll catch up with the rest of you at Darkstar once we're done."

Shepard's face took on a hurt expression. Jacob had a hard time telling whether it was put on or genuine, but it certainly looked out of place on Commander freaking Shepard. He just shook his head and turned away, gesturing for Garrus and Legion to follow him. As he left the armory, he called back, "Whatever happened to bros before hos?"

Garrus sighed and patted Shepard on the back. "Hey, don't worry about Taylor. Your handsome turian wingman's right here. And Grunt and Zaeed are probably halfway to Darkstar already at this point." Shepard grinned and treated Garrus to one of his drunken backslaps. The turian simply took it in stride.

They made their way through the airlock and toward one of the taxi shuttles in relative peace. It wasn't until they were in the shuttle that Legion spoke up. "Shepard-Commander. We have a query."

"Sure thing, robot buddy," said Shepard.

"We require clarification of the phrase 'bros before hos.' Our analog communication analysis identifies it as an unknown idiom."

Garrus's jaw dropped and his mandibles splayed as he tried not to burst out laughing. But Shepard dropped into a thoughtful silence as Legion watched and Garrus tried to contain his snickering.

"Well, you know. Bros before hos. Jacob was supposed to come out and get smashed with us, not run off to some stupid candlelight dinner with Kasumi. Because we're bros. We all are." He spread his arms wide. "One big happy bromance."

Garrus thanked the spirits that he had written his will, because he was pretty sure he'd lost a kidney by this point trying not to laugh between Shepard's inebriated explanation and Legion's head-flaps wiggling in confusion. Finally, the geth said, "Define 'bromance.' Our software parses it as a portmanteau of the words 'brother' and 'romance.' We assumed such a thing was defined as 'incest.'"

Shepard stared at him, horrified. "The hell, man? Bromance is...it's holy. Sacred."

"This platform does not identify itself as male."

"It's just a human term for very close platonic friendship," said Garrus, now openly laughing. He was pretty sure Legion or Shepard wouldn't try anything untoward, but it was better to clarify these things if the geth really was going to be their sober brother. Machine. Whatever.

"That," declared Shepard in no uncertain terms as the shuttle pulled into Darkstar, "is blasphemy. Bromance is nothing more or less than guy love. And it's why bros come before hos."

Legion's head-lamps flapped again, and it glanced between the happily tipsy Shepard, now expounding on the joys of guy love, and Garrus, quaking with laughter. Finally, the turian took pity on Legion as they walked into Darkstar and said, "Listen, just look it up later on the extranet. Geth can't be mentally scarred, right?"

**ONE WEEK LATER**

"So you can't do anything about our guns without Shepard's permission," said Garrus in frustration, looking at the geth.

"Affirmative. EDI's software is now diffuse throughout Normandy's hardware. We are not allowed to interface with her without Shepard-Commander's permission."

EDI's blue hologram popped up in the dim light of the gunnery bay. "Technically, Legion, my intelligence is not a part of Normandy's weapons systems."

Legion shook its head lamp, a very human gesture. "We choose not to interface with Normandy without Shepard-Commander's consent. We do not wish to jeopardize unit cohesion."

"Commander Shepard is currently in his quarters," said EDI. "Shall I page him?"

"Wait," said Garrus. "Is Miranda with him?"

There was a pause from EDI. Then she said with almost chilling smugness, "Yes. He is accompanied by Operative Lawson."

Garrus groaned and hit his head against the metal with a quiet thunk. "Great. He's getting it on while I'm trying to optimize our firing systems after the crash fried them."

"I have no knowledge of Shepard and Lawson's activities at the moment," said EDI, and her hologram disappeared. Garrus thought for a moment before an evil plan suddenly popped into his head fully formed. "Hey, Legion?"

"Ready."

"Remember what Shepard told you a week ago? That night we all got trashed?"

Legion hesitated for a moment, making a kind of whirring sound. "Idiomatic phrase 'bros before hos,' filed under human mating etiquette. We are still attempting to reach consensus on the significance."

"Yeah, that," said Garrus excitedly. "Listen, go get Shepard. Just pound on his door and tell him to get his ass down here. And if he complains, just tell him bros before hos."

The steady stare of Legion's head-lamp must have been the geth equivalent of a deeply skeptical look, but Legion left anyway. A minute later found the platform outside the captain's quarters. Heavy breathing, both male and female, was punctuated by the sounds of a mattress shifting.

"Shepard-Commander. We require your assistance in the gunnery station."

Behind the metal doors, Shepard looked up from his rather compromising position with a hissed curse. "Kinda busy right now!" he yelled back. Miranda raised an eyebrow at him before he resumed his current mission-getting her out of her pants.

"Human etiquette includes the stipulation 'bros before hos,'" said Legion. "Our understanding is that our request for assistance takes precedence."

Shepard nearly choked with indignation. "Son of a..." he muttered, smacking himself on the forehead. He gave Miranda an apologetic look-for her part, she seemed torn between irritation and amusement.

"Classy," she said, pushing him off of her and tossing him his shirt. "Go on."

"Miranda, I-"

"Just shut up and go see what it wants," said Miranda, not unkindly. Shepard really did look quite pathetically apologetic as he hurriedly pulled on his uniform. "Hurry back, though."

* * *

"You. You turian bastard," spluttered Shepard as a grinning Garrus told him he needed permission for Legion to help with the guns. "You set Legion up! Why the hell didn't you just say you needed permission in the first place?"

Garrus assumed a mocking, mournful expression. "Just missed your sunny disposition and sparkling personality, Commander, what with all the time you've been spending with Lawson."

"I hate you. We should have bombed you all up the ass during the First Contact War."

Garrus laughed. "I'm only looking out for you, Shepard. Bros before hos." He held out a fist to Legion, who blinked twice before bumping its fingers against Garrus's gauntlet.


End file.
